Mirthful Silence
by Anghel Higure
Summary: A Merric/Navarre two-shot.
1. Un

It was an average, uneventful day at camp. Most of the League was out and about, each soldier with his or her own business to deal with. Guards, food gatherers, an occasional sparring match. Despite the war, the camp and its swelling number of occupants had retained its calm atmosphere, one much like the sense of relief after a violent storm. Each soldier was thankful for his continued existence and that his brothers in arms were safe...

Especially a certain mage.

After a night of worry and little sleep, he could finally visit his friend, who had been almost fatally wounded in the previous battle. If the mage- now a sage, as he was a quick learner and there was always a demand for healers- had not been at his friend's side with a Mend staff in hand, the man would have surely died. Yet, of course, he did not. The green-eyed sage's swift and skilled bunkmate would live to wield his silvery blade another day.

Glancing to the pale morning sky, Merric sighed, running a hand through his unkempt green hair. The air was chill and, being used to warmer weather, his normal uniform of heavy robes was helpful in keeping the frail young man from catching cold. Glancing around camp, he saw the usual early-risers performing their usual morning routines. Seeing nothing of interest, he continued on his way, unaware that he'd attracted more than one amused glance.

To Merric's dismay, a certain freelancer had been chosen to guard the healer's tent. Like everyone else he was a bit wary of the shapeshifter's abilities and foreign ways, though treated Xane with respect. With talents like his and their potential for mischief, it was best to stay on his good side.

The strange teen caught sight of him and grinned in his usual contagious manner. "Yo, Merry!"

Knowing the pink-haired freelancer had a poor memory with names, the sage was still a bit annoyed. "Merric," he corrected.

"Aha, sorry!" Xane grinned again, chuckling. "So you're here to see your boyfriend, right?"

Merric raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar, foreign word. "Boy... friend?"

"You know. A guy... that's your friend..." Seeing that the sage did not catch his meaning, Xane sighed. "I meant to say:_ lover_."

Merric blushed madly at the thought. "No, no! We are but brothers on the fields of war! Why would you say such a... such a vile thing?"

Xane shrugged embarassedly. "Well, word's been goin' around camp for quite a while now..."

"And I never heard of this?" The sage let out a sigh. "Ah, no matter... Now, may I see how my friend is?"

The freelancer nodded, stepping aside to let him through. "The worst of his wounds've been healed, though I'd recommend you not wake him."

"I understand," the sage replied, pushing the flap of fabric aside and vanishing into the healing tent. Inside it was warm and rather comfortable, the tent's design offering stability and circulation, among other things. Merric spotted his friend lying in a cot toward the tent's far end and approached quietly. The myrmidon lay in silence, bandaged chest rising and falling rhythmically, and he seemed to wear a frown upon his face even in sleep. His long, dark brown hair lay spilled across the pillow and his shoulders, attracting the sage's emerald-green gaze. When he'd first seen the length of his hair, he'd the thought the swordsman a woman- female myrmidons weren't exactly unheard of- though he had figured it out in time...

In his sleep Navarre seemed almost peaceful, though the sage knew his friend to be one of the most vicious fighters he'd ever witnessed. In the flickering lamplights' warm glow, his hair looked even softer and silkier than usual... Merric self-consciously touched his own pastel-green coloured bangs; they were soft, though not nearly as long as his friend's. Glancing at the tent's entrance for any would-be witnsses, the sage tentatively raised a hand and stroked one of his friend's flowing locks of hair. Feeling himself shiver, he let out his breath shakily. The strands between his sensitive fingers were like the finest silk; though he longed to touch more of it, Merric was sure his friend would mind being petted like a dog.

Returning to looking over his friend's wounds, the green-eyed sage found nothing to be the matter. No new blood spots or signs of infection, no wheezy, irregular breathing. Just a few scratches remained on the myrmidon's scarred skin, and even those were fading quickly._ 'He'll be battle-ready by tomorrow,' _thought he with a smile. The bandages around his friend's torso were probably unneeded by now, though Merric made no move to remove them, what with the twisted rumours and his friend's inclination toward violence. He'd watched the myrmidon fight many a battle, and certainly didn't care for a blade pointed at his throat... Interrupted from his thoughts by a stirring, Merric quickly withdrew his hands. Navarre's eyes fluttered open, so dark they seemed black, and settled on the sage with the sharpness and deadliness of a wyrmslayer. Merric couldn't help but feel uncomfortable under his friend's cold gaze, but managed to speak anyway.

"Good evening, Navarre. I came to see how you were faring..." The myrmidon remained silent as always, glancing around before sitting up slowly. If he were in pain or discomfort, he gave no sign. "So," Merric began nervously. "Have you any plans for today?" Navarre only gave him a bored glance, letting out a muted yawn. His silky hair flowed down his shoulders, reaching down to his lower shoulder blades, where it had been cut raggedly. Despite Navarre's bandages, the mage noticed how fit and muscular his friend was. If he were a bit less antisocial, he would be surrounded by women... Remembering the rumour, Merric flushed and averted his eyes. "S-so... you're all right?"

"I am alive, am I not?" The myrmidon finally spoke, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "Now, why are you _really_ here?"

"Just to check on you, really..." Navarre made a low sound in his throat and turned away, standing up with his back facing Merric, and began to pull off the bandages without modesty.

If Merric had been speaking he would have stuttered, instead he bit his tongue, trying desperately not to stare at the myrmidon's exposed flesh. Scars of varied sizes and shapes laced the fair skin of his back and shoulders, though strangely did not make him at all unattractive... _'He's beautiful,' _thought Merric as he finally gave in to staring. _'I'm infatuated with... with...'_

"Do you stare at every man you come to check?"

The mage froze, cheeks burning. "N-no! I was s-s-s-s-s-" Navarre had chosen this moment to turn around, clad in nothing but his lower garments. For a moment the flustered sage stuttered stupidly, then he averted his eyes from the sight, holding a loose sleeve to his nose to avoid dripping blood everywhere. He swore he could see the faintest shadow of amusement cross the silent myrmidon's features.

"Tell me, Merric. Have you an... _unnatural_ _attraction?"_

The green-haired sage flinched at the words, shaking his head violently. _'So this is how I die... He shall surely kill me!'_ "No," he squeaked, shrinking into his robes a bit.

"Really?" The swordsman's voice had taken on a dangerous tone, almost daring. "Tell me the truth, sage."

_'He's going to kill me... He's going to kill me...'_ Merric swallowed, trying desperately to calm himself. "I- I do not-" In a flurry of movement the taller man was upon him, dark eyes piercing his and a cold, sharp object at his throat.

_"Tell me._ _The truth," _the myrmidon hissed, pressing his blade's tip against the fair skin.

Eyes wide in fear and full of tears, the sage whimpered. "I... I..." Tears spilled down his cheeks, staining the navy blue fabric of his robes. "I do," he whispered, averting his eyes shamefully. "I love you, Navarre."


	2. Deux

Silence. The expression in the myrmidon's eyes did not change, nor did he make a move to withdraw the knife from his friend's throat.

"I'm sorry," the green-haired sage whispered with a sniffle. "I disgust you, don't I? Just... just get it over with and kill m-" Merric was cut off, not by a frigid blade severing his throat but something far more deadly: the myrmidon's lips were pressed against his. Squirming under the swordsman's grip and letting out a muffled grunt, the sage finally melted into the kiss. It was far different than anything he'd imagined; in fact he'd thought it'd be somehow akin to kissing a reared cobra, something quick and cold, emotionless and lacking in depth. Something that could only hurt, that he would regret...

Yet as they shared their first kiss, the only thing Merric regretted was not confessing his feelings sooner. Cheeks tinged crimson, he was suddenly aware of his position: hands on the myrmidon's bare torso, muscles rippling powerfully beneath his fingers, the elder in his lap, legs straddling his own. The sage felt himself growing uncomfortably hot under his thick robes but didn't want this embrace to stop. Navarre's hands found their way into his thick robes, making the sage shiver and break away from the kiss.

"Do you want me, Merric?" the myrmidon purred softly.

"N-Navarre, I..." The sage leaned close as if to kiss him, but froze as common sense returned. "We shouldn't be doing this!" He pushed the elder man away, eyes filling with tears once more. "We are both men! Do you understand what some kingdoms _do_ to... those like us? Do you understand the shame, the humiliation that we would bring upon ourselves and our families?"

At this the myrmidon remained silent, not bothering to hide his pain. "I do understand," he whispered, hanging his head. "For you it would be worth the pain..." Wrapping his arms around his friend gently, he let out a sigh. "But if you do not feel the same, I understand."

"No," Merric pleaded. "I-I do... But I'm scared, Navarre. What will they do when they find out?"

"They already know," the myrmidon replied softly. "Yet they have done nothing."

The green-haired sage then remembered something. "I heard Gordin and Draug were also... _together_, but never believed it..."

Navarre nodded. "'Tis true. Wolf and Roshea as well."

"Wolf and... Roshea? ..._Why?"_

A shrug.

"What is going on?"

This earned another shrug. "It... it very well might be natural."

"Natural? The Law states it very clearly that this is an abomination!"

"I do not understand either... yet it is happening."

"Navarre..."

"Merric," the taller man cooed, stroking his cheek lovingly. This time Merric engaged the kiss, tentatively reaching his hands up the myrmidon's back. He felt the taller man's nimble tongue flick across a sensitive spot in his mouth and tensed, making a strained whimpering sound. He pulled away for a breath, panting slightly and smiling shyly. "I love you," Navarre murmured, and for the very first time Merric saw beneath his friend's mask. There was still the sharpness, the slumbering bloodlust, that haunted look he would forever carry, but only a trace of it...

What Merric saw in his friend's expression could not be rendered into words or cohesive thought, he could only wrap his arms around Navarre, confident that no war could ever divide them.

"Lie with me, Merric," the myrmidon breathed pleadingly, his tone stained with lust.

The sage pulled away, remaining silent and gazing into his friend's eyes as if studying him. "I... I would love to..." He paused to think, then shook his head slowly. "Yet we cannot." The brown-haired myrmidon opened his mouth to speak, but the sage quickly silenced him, pressing a finger to his lips.

"We cannot," he repeated. "Not here, not yet..." Giving Navarre a peck on the cheek, he smiled sweetly. "Though I would happily sleep in your embrace tonight."


End file.
